Like Being Married
by Rambling Scribe
Summary: Harry, Ruth, coffee with a dash of whisky and a late night conversation...


**Disclaimer: Spooks belongs to Kudos and the BBC. **

**A/N: Some slightly naughty fluff inspired by the S9 DVD extras and the S10 writers. **

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"I can't tempt you then?" Dimitri asked, perching himself on the corner of Ruth's desk.

"I thought you were taking Beth out for a drink."

"I am but there's no reason you can't come along as well."

Biting back a smile, Ruth looked up at her young colleague. "Ah, but I don't want to play gooseberry. Beth will never forgive me."

"You wouldn't be playing gooseberry. And what do you mean Beth will never forgive you?"

"Oh, Dimitri," Ruth teased, raising an eyebrow. "Surely you've noticed."

The sound of the pods sliding open and the appearance of the woman in question temporarily curtailed further conversation.

"I thought you were getting changed," said Beth, scrutinising Dimitri's appearance. "We're only going to the pub; you don't need the James Bond look any more."

"Ruth was asking me something."

"No, I wasn't!" the analyst retorted, unwilling to be drawn into the discussion.

"Cheers, Evershed," Dimitri replied before turning towards Beth. "So, you think I look like James Bond then?"

"Wasn't quite what I meant," remarked the blonde, sharing a conspiratorial smile with Ruth. "Just that you're a bit overdressed for _The Cricketers_."

"But you both said earlier that I looked good in black tie."

"You do," Ruth assured him. "In fact, I thought you, Alec and Tariq all looked good."

"What about Harry?" asked Beth, sensing an opportunity for a bit of fun.

"What about me?" intoned a familiar voice. Yet again Harry had managed to get half-way across the Grid without being spotted.

"Jesus," whispered Dimitri, none too quietly. "How does he do that?"

"I can assure you, Mr Levendis, that Jesus has nothing to do with it. And you might want to consider changing your clothes before you leave. Black tie is a little excessive for _The Cricketers_."

Both women laughed.

"I have explained that," said Beth, ignoring the hurt look on Dimitri's face. "But I think _he_ thinks it increases his pulling power."

"Really?" asked Harry, casually. "What do you think, Ruth?"

"Me?"

"Yes, you. Do you think black tie increases a man's attractiveness?"

"Well, um, I-I suppose…it…well…" Ruth cleared her throat. "It depends…on the circumstances. And the man," she added, before starting to fiddle with the pens on her desk in an attempt to hide her embarrassment.

"Come on, Sailor Boy," said Beth, picking up her coat. "We need to go."

"But I thought you wanted me to-"

"Now, Dimitri," she continued, taking hold of his arm and pulling him towards the pods. "You can take your tie off and undo a couple of buttons. That usually does the trick."

Harry and Ruth watched in silence as their younger colleagues continued bickering through the pods and beyond.

"Anyone would think they were mar-"

"What, Ruth?" asked Harry, softly.

"Nothing."

"It's all right, you can say 'married'. I won't go to pieces at the mention of matrimony."

"I know that," said Ruth, fingers plucking nervously at the edge of a file, making the cardboard fray. "I just didn't want to…" She sighed, heavily. _Was it always going to be like this with him?_ "I was trying not to hurt your feelings, Harry." _Not again._

He didn't reply so she risked a quick look at him. The atmosphere crackled with a familiar tension as their eyes met and Ruth felt a buzz of excitement, low in her abdomen. The same feeling she'd had earlier, when they'd danced together.

Harry was also thinking of their dance. The chance to hold her in his arms had proved to be one temptation he couldn't possibly resist and he'd cherished every moment of it. And now he wanted to hold her again; dance with her in a completely different, far more intimate way. But it was unlikely she'd ever grant him that wish. He gave her a sad smile then turned and walked back to his office.

Ruth kept her eyes fixed on Harry as he crossed the Grid; she didn't look away until he sat down at his desk.

**-x-x-**

She appeared in the doorway of his office, a vision in midnight blue silk, looking even more beautiful than when she'd first walked onto the Grid earlier that evening. Although then she hadn't been carrying two mugs of coffee or had bare feet.

"You've taken your shoes off," remarked Harry, conversationally.

"Yes. It's not a problem is it? A transgression of some dress code I'm not aware of?"

"No. It was merely an observation."

"Good," replied Ruth, placing one of the mugs onto his desk. "Coffee?"

"Thank you."

She hesitated for a moment, debating where best to sit. Eventually, she settled on the chrome and leather seating arrangement that masqueraded as a sofa. A little distance between them wasn't a bad thing.

"My feet are killing me. That's why I've taken my shoes off," Ruth said, feeling the need to explain herself. "And I've got blisters."

"Oh dear. New shoes?"

She nodded. "Yes. Bit silly to wear them tonight but I didn't have any others that went with this dress."

Harry took a sip of his coffee and then leant back in his seat. "I thought it was de rigueur to buy new shoes when you bought a new frock."

"Not necessarily. Do you buy a new tie every time you buy a new shirt?"

"Not necessarily."

Ruth eyed him over the rim of her coffee mug trying to work out why she still liked him so much, even when he was being infuriating.

"That's a lovely dress by the way," Harry said, gambling that a compliment would negate the annoyance he'd clearly caused. "I don't think I told you earlier but it is. And you look lovely in it. Obviously." He hastily quashed the impulse to tell her she'd look even lovelier _out_ of the dress.

"Thank you," said Ruth, blushing slightly. "You still haven't told me how you managed to get us a clothes budget for tonight's op."

"Towers fixed it. Something to do with him having some dirt on the Foreign Secretary. Your new frock and shoes are courtesy of the FCO's hospitality fund."

"Interesting. I wonder if it's the same dirt we've got."

"Could be. You should come with me the next time I go to see Towers. See if you can charm the information out of him." Harry pushed his chair back and stood up. "Wear that dress. He won't be able to say no."

"Cheeky sod," Ruth muttered, under her breath.

"Do you want some?" Harry asked, picking up a bottle of whisky and adding a large measure to his coffee.

"Harry! That's bloody good coffee you're adulterating."

"It's bloody good whisky I'm adulterating it with. Do you want some?"

"Please."

"No, stay there," said Harry as Ruth made to stand up.

After topping up her drink, he grabbed the chair that faced his desk, turned it around and wheeled it towards Ruth. He settled himself on it and smiled at her. "How are your feet?"

"Still aching."

"I think I might be able to help with that." He leant forward, reaching for her left foot. "Trust me," he reassured her, seeing the look of alarm on her face. "I know what I'm doing."

Clutching her coffee a little more tightly, Ruth watched Harry as he began to gently massage her foot. His hands were warm, and surprisingly soft, and she soon found herself relaxing into his touch.

"You're not ticklish," he observed, not taking his eyes off what he was doing.

"Not my feet, no."

"Which implies you may be ticklish elsewhere."

"Not necessarily. And even if I am, I'm not telling you."

"I see."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Ruth asked, a little indignantly.

"It means…what it means."

They lapsed into silence again as Harry turned his attention to her other foot and Ruth's gaze shifted away from his hands. He'd undone his black tie but it was still threaded through the collar of his shirt, which was open at the neck, giving him a rather dishevelled appearance. And he did dishevelled extremely well.

"Something wrong?" Harry questioned, as Ruth sighed, heavily.

"No, no," she gabbled. "Nothing's wrong." She flinched as he pressed the pads of his thumbs more firmly into the sole of her foot. "Ow."

"Sorry." He looked up at her. "It is good for you though."

"So you say."

"I told you, I know what I'm doing."

Ruth glared at Harry but didn't reply.

"This is like being married," he said, quietly. "Sitting here, drinking coffee-"

"You mean whisky with a dash of coffee."

"Bickering whilst I massage your aching feet."

"Bickering? We're not bickering."

"We are."

"Harry!"

"Point proven," he replied. "This is very much like being married. Apart from the sex."

"What do you mean, 'apart from the sex'? We don't have sex…"

Harry smiled. "Believe me, Ruth, I had noticed. I meant our…relationship is unconsummated. As are some marriages. And others don't have a lot of sex in them."

"I know. But it's rare though, isn't it? Unconsummated marriage, I mean."

He shrugged. "You're the analyst."

"True, but, funnily enough, I've never had cause to look for statistics on unconsummated and sexless marriages."

Harry ignored the slightly sarcastic comment and went back to massaging Ruth's feet.

"This isn't like being married," she said, after a moment or two. "I'm sure married people never talk about sex like this."

"That's because they're either too busy doing it or too busy avoiding doing it."

"Would we, do you think? If we were married."

"Would we what?"

"Talk about it. Do it."

Harry looked up at Ruth, visibly surprised. "Well," he started, regaining his composure, "I'd like to think that you'd find me irresistible and would be ripping my clothes off at any and every opportunity. In private, at least."

"Oh, do you."

"Yes. And of course I would make the most of every chance I had to get you naked and make love to you. Passionately. Until you couldn't remember your name, address, telephone number-"

"I get the idea, thanks."

And she liked the idea. She _really_ liked the idea. A great deal.

"Does quantity trump quality then?" Ruth asked, her imagination beginning to run wild.

"Of course not. But it will always be good quality sex. Very good quality. I guarantee it."

"Do I get a refund if I disagree?"

"No. We just keep doing it until you're happy. Knackered but happy."

Suddenly, they both realised that the conversation had stopped being hypothetical. Ruth lifted her feet off Harry's lap and sat up straight.

Aware that he'd most definitely overstepped the boundaries of their friendship, Harry began to apologise: "I'm sorry if I-"

"Very good quality?" Ruth interrupted.

"What?"

"You said 'very good quality'."

"Yes," Harry replied, wondering if perhaps the situation wasn't irredeemable after all.

Ruth stood up and moved towards him. "What do you want to do, Harry?"

"I thought I'd made that clear," he replied, reaching for her and pulling her close.

"Then I think it's time we went home and consummated our marriage."

He didn't argue.

_The End_

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Thanks for reading.**


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